Gay bar
by FPB
Summary: Postwar angst


Gay bar

A horrified Draco Malfoy made to leave the pub, his wife Pansy in tow and instinctively sheltering in his shadow. They had just realized what kind of place it was; why, looking around, he could see no women save for his wife; why so many of the customers wore bikers' leathers, skin-tight outfits of various sorts, or massive moustaches; why the walls were spattered with pictures of famous athletes, actors and singers, all male and all stripped to the waist. Suddenly a figure rose in front of him; and all chances of simply managing a decorous and unobtrusive exit were gone.

The man was obviously intoxicated. He was also familiar. For a second Draco could not place him – the crewcut certainly belonged to nobody he knew, and the tattoos... then he noticed the eyes. The green eyes –

"Hello, Malfoy. How's Mrs Malfoy and all the little Malfoys?"

Harry Potter was so drunk that he swayed on his feet. His eyes were unfocused, his breath smelt horribly, and his words were slurred and almost incoherent. Malfoy's fastidious taste took in with disgust the cowboy boots, the torn jeans, the large studded leather belt, the cheap T-shirt, and outsize black leather jacket.

"My wife is perfectly well, Potter – as you can see by yourself, since she is right here with me. We were just leaving."

"What, leaving so soon?" slurred the figure before him – the horrible caricature of the man he had known – with a dreadful attempt at irony. "And we such old friends? No, no, stay, couldn't allow it.. EVERYBODY," his voice rose high, unsteady and almost violent, "SAY HELLO TO MY OLD OLD FRIEND FROM SCHOOL... DRACO! DEAR OL' DRACO!"

With some bleak satisfaction, Draco could see that most of the customers were sober, and thoroughly embarrassed by Potter's behaviour. The clientele was older than he would have thought, he noticed, many in their forties and fifties, a few grandfathers. A lanky, rather weedy man came close to Potter: "Calm down, Harry, come down... You're making the lady nervous..." Potter simply turned without a word and felled him with an exemplary haymaker. Quidditch muscles, thought Draco, now slightly alarmed; and why not? He was still reserve Seeker for the Cannons.

Draco could not know that Harry, who did not ordinarily drink to excess, had just been dumped by a boyfriend. He had deliberately chosen this pub – the boyfriend's favourite, and full of his friends – to get drunk in, either to make trouble or at least to leave a memorable image behind; and the man he had just felled was one of his ex-boyfriend's intimates. It was in this turmoil of anger, embarrassment, jealousy and rejection that Draco had unfortunately blundered.

"Potter," he said quietly and in as even a tone as he could manage, "we really have to go and we are expected elsewhere. Now be a good boy and let us through."

"Why?" Harry came so close to Draco that his drool was dripping on the shoulder of the blonde man's suit. "When we are having so much fun? Stay here, Malfoy... I can show you the world," he said, as his hands reached ever further.

Suddenly a green light exploded and Potter was blown back reeling, hitting several chairs as he collapsed painfully. Draco had the advantage of being sober, and did not need a wand for a basic defence spell. He stood with his legs wide apart and his fists clenched, looking down with an expression of such disgust that he might almost have been holding back vomit.

"Don't ever lay hands on me again like that, Potter. And leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you, and I have the means to make sure that I am not bothered. Next time, I will use my fists."

"Ahh, Draco... Draco, Draco, Draco, delicate little Draco... you know what? We've got a word for you.. _breeders_. You're breeders... We'll have your children," the drunken shouts pursued Draco as he made his way out of the pub and into the late evening cold, "we'll have your children yet!"

.....................................................................................................................

"I'm sorry about that scene, darling."

"That's all right. It was hardly your fault."

"It was too. One should never go into strange bars without checking out the atmosphere... Crikey, _can you believe it_?"

"No wonder Weasley and Granger broke up with him."

"Yeah, remember when we stayed up the whole evening just trying to figure that one out?" Draco grinned reminiscently. "That was one wasted all-nighter... as I recall, neither you nor I thought of this."

"It makes sense, you know. Millicent was telling me about the people who come into her counselling service, and a lot of the gay men either have no fathers or some sort of tragedy in their family history."

"Look, my dear, I honestly could not care less about the reasons. He's an arse-bandit and a drunkard. Isn't it enough?"

"Well, Draco, you always hated him..."

"And didn't I have any reasons? What about that disgusting exhibition just now?"

"He wasn't that way then. I didn't like him myself, but you know we never saw him drunk at Hogwarts."

"No... I guess you're right, darling. I guess we never guessed."

They were silent for a minute or two, as the cold streets of London on an exceptionally cold February evening echoed with the clicking of their heels. And then, "Think about it!" said Draco, more to himself than to Pansy – thoughtful, shocked, almost absent. "If we had known! We could have won the war... we could have saved the Dark Lord's life... if only we had known then that Harry Potter was gay. _Saved the Dark Lord's life_..." his voice slowly died down as they walked away homewards, where their five children had by now surely been tucked into bed by their capable nanny. "We could have cleared the world of Muggles... Killed Dumbledore and his ilk... _Saved the Dark Lord's life..._" And Pansy, too, was lost in dreams of what might have been.


End file.
